


Tempered

by fallintosanity (yopumpkinhead)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Feelings, Gen, World of Ruin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:53:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27554149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yopumpkinhead/pseuds/fallintosanity
Summary: Four years after Noctis vanished into the Crystal, Gladio returns to the Tempering Grounds.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 35
Collections: Lost in Wars - A FFXV World of Ruin Zine





	Tempered

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Lost in Wars zine from 2020, focused on the World of Ruin. I'm honored to have been included and for the chance to work with so many amazing creators!

The sword-studded bridge in the depths of Taelpar Crag looked just like Gladio remembered from four years ago, except that instead of the sun’s rays piercing the canyon, the only light came from his jacket lamp and the bioluminescent crystals curving overhead. Their glow threw glittering starbursts from the blades studding the sides of the bridge, and danced wild shadows on the canyon walls. Gladio let his fingers trail over the pommels of the swords as he strode out to the center of the span: dozens of blades, each representing a dashed hope, a would-be warrior’s death.

He wondered if he should have joined them. 

The Genji Blade shimmered into existence in his hand, the familiar magic his only reassurance that Noctis still lived. That Gladio’s king was still out there somewhere, and would return to bring light back to Eos. Gladio ran his thumb over the Crownsguard emblem wrapped around the grip: a symbol of failure, as much as the rusted blades that surrounded him. 

He sensed the presence behind him, but didn’t turn. He was exhausted from fighting his way through the hordes of daemons which now occupied the Tempering Grounds in place of the spirits who’d once guarded it, and he knew this particular entity wasn’t a threat. Not to him. 

Gilgamesh said, “You have already proven yourself worthy. Why do you return?” 

Instead of answering, Gladio raised the Genji Blade, its edge catching the blue glow of the stalactites as he turned it back and forth - then drove its tip deep into a cleft in the ground. 

“You reject my blessing?” Gilgamesh asked, though he sounded more curious than upset. 

“No,” Gladio said. He slumped to the ground next to the sword, drawing one knee to his chest and draping his arm over it. “I’m just…” He sighed. 

Gilgamesh stepped closer, looming over him. “Your fear has returned.”

“It never went away,” Gladio corrected him tiredly. He glanced up at the darkness overhead, the sky too thick with Starscourge for even the tiniest bit of light to peek through. He didn’t know if it was day or night. He didn’t know if it mattered. “You know what’s going on out there,” he said. 

“I do,” Gilgamesh agreed. “The Cosmogony nears completion.” 

“Yeah.” Gladio closed his eyes, remembering what Gilgamesh had said when he’d handed over his power _._ “It’s not a good ending, is it.” 

“It is not my place to say.” 

“You called him the Last King of Lucis,” Gladio said. He looked up at the spirit’s glowing eyes. “I didn’t catch it until later.”

Gilgamesh tilted his head. “If you already know how the Chosen King’s tale will end, and you are not rejecting my power, then why are you here?” 

“Because…” Gladio stopped, tried again. “I don’t…” But the words tangled on his tongue, exhaustion binding his voice as much as it dragged at his body, and he gave up with a sigh. 

Gilgamesh waited, patient as the stones around them. Finally Gladio said, “Iris.” He traced a finger along a crack in the stone floor. “Cor. Talcott. Iggy. Prompto.” 

“Your companions.” 

Gladio nodded. 

“They... weigh on you.” 

“It’s been four years,” Gladio said softly. Guilt knotted in his stomach, for talking about his friends - his family - like this, but he couldn’t keep his mouth shut anymore. “They’re barely hanging on. I know I... The job of a Shield is to support the king as much as to physically guard him. But Noct’s… Noct’s gone. And I’m only one guy.” His voice cracked as he asked, “What happens when I’m the one who’s barely holding on?” 

Gladio hung his head, eyes burning, chest tight. It was shameful to admit he still wasn’t strong enough to support his friends. “If I can’t even… if I can’t…” He swallowed. “How the hell’m I going to be strong for Noct when he comes back?” 

Gilgamesh studied him in silence for a long, long minute. Then, to Gladio’s surprise, the ancient spirit sat down in front of him, armor creaking as he crossed his legs. “You have forgotten what I told you.” 

“‘He who averts his gaze from his own faults cannot himself a true Shield call’,” Gladio quoted. His finger ran over the stone, tracing the cracks. The bridge was massive, and the cracks were tiny. It would be years - centuries - before they grew enough to risk the bridge’s strength. But the cracks running through Gladio were far larger, and he was no earth-stone from the dawn of time. “I know the faults are there, but I can’t do anything about ‘em.”

“Doubt,” Gilgamesh said. “Fear. The same faults I saw in you four years ago.” 

“I could make peace with ‘em when the only one I was failing was Noct,” Gladio said. “But now… everyone’s counting on me, and…” He looked up at the starless sky, and told himself it wasn’t to keep the tears from falling. “I’m not strong enough to carry the whole world.” 

Again Gilgamesh was silent for a time. Finally he said, “What is the purpose of the Shield to the King of Kings?”

There was a weight to the question which belied the simplicity of it, and Gladio bit back his immediate answer, the rote one his father had drilled into him: _to protect the king from all who would do him harm_. Gilgamesh wasn’t asking about just any Shield - he’d said _the_ Shield, who served the King of Kings. “To support him,” Gladio answered. “To help him fulfill the Cosmogony and wipe out the Starscourge.” He had the horrible feeling that even a Shield couldn’t protect the Last King of Lucis from what would come when he returned. 

“Just so,” Gilgamesh said. “Now: of what use to the King is a broken Shield?” 

“None,” Gladio bit out. “That’s the problem.” 

“Then why do you insist on breaking yourself?” 

Gladio snapped his head back down to meet the spirit’s glowing eyes. “I’m not!” 

“No?” Gilgamesh said. “You take the weight of the whole world upon your shoulders, knowing you are not strong enough to bear it, and knowing it is not your purpose to do so. Why?”

“It’s not like I’m taking it on purpose,” Gladio protested. “Everyone _needs_ me. If I ain’t strong for them, they’ll—”

_ Talcott huddled against Gladio’s side, trembling after waking from another nightmare _

_ Iris sobbing into her pillow when she thinks he’s asleep _

_ Cor’s face, grim and drawn, as he tells Gladio about yet another daemonic incursion and begs him to stop it in the guise of an order _

_ Ignis screaming in frustration and grief as he fails, yet again, to defeat Gladio in what should have been an easy practice bout _

_ Prompto’s freckles standing out in stark relief against skin made translucent with blood loss as he whispers to Gladio to save himself, because a Shield is of more use in this world than a failed experiment _

The tears fell before Gladio could stop them, shattering into glittering droplets on the stone of the bridge. “I failed Noct in Gralea. I can’t fail them, too.”

“You are already failing them,” Gilgamesh said, his voice flat. “You drive yourself to breaking. If you are their only strength, what will they do when you are gone?” 

“I _know_ that!” Gladio snarled, and dashed a hand across his eyes. “I _know!_ But no one else can do it—” 

“What is the name of this place, Shield of the King?”

Gladio blinked at the non-sequitur. “Uh. The Tempering Grounds?”

“What purpose does tempering serve?” 

“To make something stronger,” Gladio said. 

“By putting great stress on it, and allowing it to recover,” Gilgamesh said patiently. “You have been tempered already. Why do you deny your companions the same?” 

Gladio stared at him.

“If you do not allow them their own tempering, then yes, they will break without you to support them,” Gilgamesh said. “But _you_ will break without them to support you. Just as the Shield gives his strength to the Last King, so must the Shield draw his strength from others. Only then can the Shield see the Cosmogony to completion.” 

“Heh,” Gladio muttered, and shook his head. “You make it sound easy.” 

With a creak of metal, Gilgamesh rose to his feet - then reached a hand down to Gladio. Startled, Gladio clasped it, and the ancient spirit hauled him upright. “You defeated me,” Gilgamesh said. “After that, everything ought to be easy.” 

It was impossible to tell, through that impassive metal mask, whether Gilgamesh was smiling - yet somehow Gladio knew he was. “Thanks,” Gladio said softly, and turned to leave.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Gilgamesh asked, his voice curious.

Gladio glanced over his shoulder at the Genji Blade, shining in the dim bioluminescence. “I’ll come back for it,” he said. “Next time I need someone to tell me to get my head outta my ass.” 

Gilgamesh nodded. “I will be here, Shield of the King.” 

Gladio waved and headed back into the labyrinth of caves which led to the surface. The weight that had been pressing on his chest for the last four years, stealing his breath and his strength, wasn’t gone completely. It wouldn’t be until Noctis came back. But at least Gladio wasn’t the only one holding it up anymore. He didn’t know how many more years he’d have to wait, or what trials he - and Noct - would face, but Gilgamesh was right.

Gladio wouldn’t face them alone.


End file.
